Tuesday, November 22, 2005

Good Morning, Grey Weather

November. Fog. Perhaps a pipe after lunch. It doesn't get any better. This season, as Lewis spake of its "brown solemnities", leans on me.

Rite

Bold September closes crisp and bright
To usher in a brilliant, woody breath
Which leaves October’s leaves beside themselves
In unction last, in blood red robes, in death.

by Evan Wilson

4 comments:

Halfgut said...

Just remember to move your hand or foot once in a while so others don't take you for a pile of burning leaves and try to put you out.
Good to see you a'bloggin'
halfgut

Lauren said...

Such a bold, beautiful death though, don't you think? And an even more brilliant burial under the sparkling snow!

-Lauren

The Oracle said...

And the phrase "Rest in Peace" is past apt at the first full coverage snow.

transformed pork said...

How do you know if a poem is good?